There are the obvious marks - the signs and symbols, the physical footprints of untold activities. But I want a place to speak of the subtle moments, the small mundane events that reinforce my position.

Like the choosing of a seat in a restaurant. Since he always chooses his seat first, I rarely have a view of the people at the other tables, the layout of the building. Occasionally I face the kitchen, the bathroom, almost always a wall. And always him. I watch him watch the room. I focus on his face. His conversation. And must turn in my chair to catch the waiter's eye when his drink is empty or it's time for the check.

Or this morning.

It's early. I'm just dressing. He has to work this weekend and asks as he leaves, "do you want to go to store with me?" I tag along, and he picks up the Sunday NY Times, removing the best sections. "Do you read the front page?" he asks. "Yes." So he leaves it for me, along with the bulk of the paper that will ultimately be recycled. "See you later," he says abruptly as he walks out the store to the subway. And I laugh and pay for the paper and carry it home, smiling at the triviality of the moment and how deeply it makes me feel like his slave - to be brought to the store to carry the heavy newspaper he'd never read home.

His restaurant behaviour seems like sheer bad manners on his part to me.

Subtlety would seem to me to be more a case of him to ensuring you are dressed and seated as he would wish, to order for you and to turn the conversation and the order of things as he would wish.

Were he to make sure you are sufficiently toyed with by the time the check is settled, that you have amused, distracted and generally reinforced his sense of well-being, then that would seem to me better use of the opportunities I'm sure you afford him.

Perhaps I am being old fashioned.

Certainly, if the behaviour you describe gives you what you want, then all power to the both of you.

His restaurant behaviour seems like sheer bad manners on his part to me.

Subtlety would seem to me to be more a case of him to ensuring you are dressed and seated as he would wish, to order for you and to turn the conversation and the order of things as he would wish.

Were he to make sure you are sufficiently toyed with by the time the check is settled, that you have amused, distracted and generally reinforced his sense of well-being, then that would seem to me better use of the opportunities I'm sure you afford him.

Perhaps I am being old fashioned.

Certainly, if the behaviour you describe gives you what you want, then all power to the both of you.

Bonne continuation.

S.O.

I suppose it depends on the man. And the woman. And the nature of their relationship.

I like and have spent time with gentlemen doms who treat me exquisitely for an afternoon or an evening. But my own experience of a long relationship is that good behavior is difficult to sustain. (on my part as well as his)

I think that's why I started this thread. To honor my own experience and share the reality that I live (which does not always match the fantasies I indulge). And to hear the real experience of others.

I love hearing your perspective, though. And invite others to share their thoughts.

T doesn't like to have his back open so I sit similarly. I'm not a slave, but I'll pull the moon out of the sky for him, so whatever.

I've never felt un-adored.

H I'm sure thinks love is eating food I've stuck my high heels through off the soles of my shoes, and I find it appropriate.

I don't think there are rules to this sort of thing. Just moments when I'm suddenly struck by an overwhelming sense of my identity as "slave." Mundane moments, that look normal on the outside, but resonate at a deep level.

(That's probably why I want to write about them in a forum like this. Because their significance to me is so deeply hidden from public view on the street.)

For instance, I used to sleep curled up at the foot of the bed, not because I was ordered to, but because it was the only way he would be comfortable with the baby in the bed. In that moment, I felt like a "slave," even more than when I'm tied up or wearing clothes he likes. This overt expression of my willingness to put his needs first (while he slept, unaware of my actions) reinforced my position in my own mind and took me on a complex psychological journey in the dark of the night while I wrestled with my various feelings and ideas.

The association of sexual pleasure with moments like these can be quite intoxicating.

We're meeting at a comedy club on Saturday night. He's coming straight from work, so he asks me to bring him a change of clothes.

Why does it turn me on that I'm holding his work clothes while I stand in line, dressed for a night out in leather and denim? Half of me relishing this hip, urban, fashion status moment. Half of me wet with my position as "slave."

(after standing there holding his clothes for about half an hour, thinking through my options once I get inside, how I'll have to hold them on my lap during the show, avoid the stale smell of beer, etc. . . I am more than secretly glad when my friends drive up and I can discretely stash the clothes in the backseat of their car. . . . see, he doesn't care how I solve the problem, as long as it's taken care of)

There are many things that happen every day that make me feel my slavery to Master. Most of them are small things that would mean nothing to anyone else but which reinforce my status.

The way he will wind his fingers into my hair as though stroking it while others are around and then yank hard on it giving me pain while it seems he is being sweet. The way he really doesn't know where things are kept in the kitchen, or the way he leaves bottle caps all over the place when drinking from bottles.

Small things that reinforce to me that I am his property, his slave.

There are also more formal things such as every day when I serve his lunch I kneel at his feet while he eats.

We're standing in line at the polling place this morning with our kids. Surrounded by neighbors and excited by the election, we're joking and happy. As we near the booth, he catches my attention and holds up one finger - "yes on proposition 1." I nod. He briefly explains his reasons.

An interesting moment unfolds. There is no doubt that unless I completely disagree with him, and can provide a well-founded argument as to my reasons, I will vote as he suggests. On the other hand, I also know that if I were to simply vote as he dictated, he would consider me a fool, hardly worth the energy it would take to "educate" me.

We have spent most of this electoral season in constant discussion and debate. His passion for politics drew me into conversations I would never have initiated on my own. We have not always supported the same candidates. And he challenged any superficial thinking on my part throughout. His views were never fixed and unchanging, and I know that by voicing my opinions (occasionally well-read and researched - especially when we disagreed) I was giving him what he wanted. Intelligent conversation designed to explore the issues.

And the depth of his understanding, his ability to see into the trends of the culture, repeatedly surprised and delighted me. The respect I have for him deepened considerably - far more I think than if I had just adopted his political views as his "slave." (I have done that in the past. And it's a much lazier choice on my part.)

When I got to the booth, I did vote "yes on proposition 1." And felt like a very intelligent, free thinking "slave."

This afternoon the phone rings. I answer. Over the weekend, he asked me to take care of something; and suddenly I realize that I never did. (I do have a lot of responsibilities, and I do make mistakes.) The caller, his cousin, is going to ask him about it - my heart racing, I extend the phone to him, stuttering - "I never sent the check."

The look on his face was so black, I wanted to run away. I wanted to find a way out, escape the responsibility, the consequences of my forgetting. I was afraid of him. I also realized how difficult it was going to be for him to take the call.

I immediately brought the phone back to my ear and said, "I'm sorry. He asked me to send the money. I didn't. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I'll take care of it. What do I do?" And I spend the next twenty minutes on the phone, working out the details, smoothing ruffled feathers, listening, making assurances without promising what I can't deliver.

When I get off the phone, the problem is gone. Everyone is satisfied. He smiles.

I breathe easily again.

*************************************

Part of my service to him requires the expression of desires for which I am "punished." The spankings, the smacks, the floggings that follow my sexual transgressions are intensely exciting. And I love the visceral experience of his greater physical strength.

But the fear and relief I felt this afternoon are different.

I have made mistakes and tried to hide them. I have made mistakes and tried to convince myself it was his responsibility in the first place.

When my position as a "slave" is forefront in my mind, though, I don't waste time trying to escape the consequences of my actions. The details of responsibility and guilt don't matter. Nothing matters but that he asked me to do it, and I said I would.

And, in the end, without an escape, there is no "crisis" that can't be faced.

I am not usually one for titles. In my world, titles are reserved for relationships.Millificent (aka "viv") and myinnerslut both call me "Master".
You can call me "Homburg". Still accepting Rope Bunny applications, of course.

Disclaimer: Live your life how you want to live. Be secure enough in what you do that _my_ words won't affect you. Because my opinion has no material meaning in your life beyond what you let it have.

__________________i didnít think that I would fall
so far, so fast, but above all
in a cave of emptiness you found
my heart, beating upon the ground
you picked it up and helped me see
like puzzle pieces, you and me
your baby girl, your doll, your kitten
im Master's slave, and i am smitten

After working a weekend, he gets a couple of days off during the week. We relish the time we can be alone together while the kids are in school.

I've cleared my schedule so no one expects anything of me. (In fact, I get a rush just telling someone "I won't be available on Wednesday.") I'm excited and curious as to what we'll do. Preparing myself too for the possibility that he may choose to go off on his own.

Last night before we went to sleep, he asks "So, do you want to go to breakfast tomorrow?" "Yes," I smile, and can barely sleep with the excitement of the election and an unknowable future.

This morning I wake at 6:00 and walk around the block for a cup of coffee. As I pay, I realize with a start that I didn't buy a cup for him. The brief embarrassment I feel ordering a second cup of coffee after I've already paid for the first is vastly overshadowed by the trepidation I feel that I almost went home with only one cup of coffee! (Normally, he's off to work before this morning ritual of mine.) I think to myself "I'd better stay focussed."

I come home to wake the kids, and find him in bed. I lean in to kiss him, "I bought you a cup of coffee." "Good. Did you get a paper?" (Oh shit.) "No," I laugh, "but I'll get one." "Don't worry. It's all right." (He's in a good mood, cause he doesn't have to work. But I know that I'll have a paper by the time he gets out of bed.)

So I feed the kids, make lunches, (buy the paper), drive the kids to school, and am back home by 8:30. He's asleep. And the coffee and newspaper sit untouched on the table.

After much considering of the various consequences of each choice, I decide to eat, and cook myself some eggs. I'm a little worried about the fact that I'm eating breakfast and we're planning to go out to breakfast, but I figure I'll meet that challenge when it arises.

He doesn't get up for another hour. And I spend the time paying bills (a short-term task I can drop at any moment).

****************************

One of the challenges a "slave" faces is the maintenance of a steady low state of sexual arousal, so that I am always ready when he is.

I don't want to pretend that I am always successful at this, but I do go for days at a time nursing my arousal on mundane moments like the ones I am describing.

If buying a cup of coffee and a newspaper or paying bills can be eroticized, it's not that hard to do. And then we both are delighted and impressed by the wetness of my pussy in the middle of a very ordinary day.

****************************

When he does wake up, he disappears for a little while. And then comes back "You want to go see a movie?" (Breakfast is never mentioned. And I'm secretly glad I ate.) "Sure." He picks a movie. And we're off.

I drive. I know how to manage the city traffic, find parking, and make sure we're on time for the early show. He leaves me again at the theater and I buy my ticket and make my way into the theater alone.

When I have to choose seats, I feel a little lost. I think I know where he'd want to sit, but people are already there. I choose another location, without getting too comfortable, knowing we'll probably change seats when he gets there.

And we do.

He doesn't like the movie, but I'm moved and sit there crying. He looks over at me like he can't believe I'm falling for this crap, and I shrug. I whisper, "you chose it." He chuckles and agrees, "if you'd chosen it, you'd be dead."

As it is, we leave the movie in good spirits, and go to lunch where we rip it to shreds with our searing analysis.

When I have to go pick up the kids, he walks me back to the car. We separate, totally in love with each other, and happy for the time we had alone.

There are no rules in this game. After a brief spanking, I bent down to suck his cock. Not interested. Instead he pinched my nipples. Hard. I felt like the proverbial schoolboy being led to his seat by the ear. And discovered, with the right attitude, I can cum from the pinch alone.

He liked the way my body responded. I felt like I was climbing his body to find the peak.

I guess for us the moments are more about when in every way, big or small, I am reminded of my dependence on him every day and in so many ways. It rarely has to do with anything done publicly or even remotely involving another, but more about just us and who we are, how he has made me dependent on him and yet can throw my dependence in my face when he wishes knowing there is nothing I can do about it.

Like the way he never closes drawers and cupboards, but leaves them for me to close. Or that he never screws the top back on jars and bottles.

I have an early morning ritual. Almost every morning, before I'm fully awake, I close his dresser drawers, bus the late-night dishes, screw the tops back on the tobasco and soy sauce bottles and replace them on the kitchen shelf.

A long time ago, I kind of wondered what psychological issues might be revealed in the midst of all this behavior.

Now, I just enjoy the familiar sensation of the weight of the drawers as I push them closed, and the tiny tobasco top in my fingers.

I guess for us the moments are more about when in every way, big or small, I am reminded of my dependence on him every day and in so many ways. It rarely has to do with anything done publicly or even remotely involving another, but more about just us and who we are, how he has made me dependent on him and yet can throw my dependence in my face when he wishes knowing there is nothing I can do about it.

Catalina

I would love to better understand what the dependence you speak of feels like for you, Catalina. You are such an intelligent, and seemingly independent thinker, I believe I could learn much from your insight and experience.

Each relationship is different, of course, and your comments made me reflect on issues of dependence in our relationship. In fact, I shared your comments with him and we discussed it together.

We agreed that we both feel deeply dependent on each other. At the most basic level, he is dependent on my labor. And I depend on him for my bed and board.

On the other hand, over time I have also become more independent of him. More able to spend time apart, pursuing my own interests. More able to withstand the insensitivity and petty cruelties that inevitably mar a relationship, because I am more certain of my basic worth and goodness. More able to pursue a spiritual life that strengthens my core.

Compared to the girl I was when we met, I have grown and matured into a much better, more pleasing "slave" and wife.

The crux of my "slavery" today lies in the fact that I cannot escape whatever situation I find myself in.

As a "slave" I cannot ask him to change for me, but I can try to change. I cannot expect him to make me happy, but I can take the actions that will make us both happy. I cannot find a better world in someone else's bed or in my fantasies of what could be, but I can make a better world by learning what it really means to love another imperfect person. I understand that some people prefer separating sexual "slavery" from love. But speaking only for myself, I have given my life to this man. And I could not live without love.

Whew. I need to catch my breath.

I think I'm ready to return to my coffee cups and laundry. I'm much more comfortable there.

Heh, viv gives me grief if I do that. I think it is a knee-jerk reaction because she spends all day telling the kids to close drawers and put things away. Sometimes I close them, sometimes I don't.

I do try awfully hard to remember to close the cabinet doors above the stove. They are right at the exact point to be outside my normal field of vision, yet still far enough to really frikken hurt when I run my head into them. Stealthy bastard doors...

Quote:

Originally Posted by eastern sun

As a "slave" I cannot ask him to change for me, but I can try to change. I cannot expect him to make me happy, but I can take the actions that will make us both happy. I cannot find a better world in someone else's bed or in my fantasies of what could be, but I can make a better world by learning what it really means to love another imperfect person. I understand that some people prefer separating sexual "slavery" from love. But speaking only for myself, I have given my life to this man. And I could not live without love.

Truly, and strikingly, beautiful.

Thank you for sharing that

__________________"more than an awesome talking Cock."-myinnerslut, from the Ropework Photos thread...

I am not usually one for titles. In my world, titles are reserved for relationships.Millificent (aka "viv") and myinnerslut both call me "Master".
You can call me "Homburg". Still accepting Rope Bunny applications, of course.

Disclaimer: Live your life how you want to live. Be secure enough in what you do that _my_ words won't affect you. Because my opinion has no material meaning in your life beyond what you let it have.

Yesterday was a case in point for me. I was not working yesterday and looking forward to a lie in. Instead I was woken at 7.30am to iron a shirt for him.

"Why didn't you ask me last night?" I complained.

"I didn't need it last night." I am informed, while he rips the duvet off me and smacks my ass. I also have to iron a tie for him, because it's his review day with his bosses at work. I end up making his lunch while he reads online comics.

When he gets home, I am in the middle of preparing dinner. His review went very well and he is to be promoted soon so L is in very good spirits. He celebrates by tying my hands with a dishcloth, forcing me into a corner on my knees and facefucking me. I know the dinner is getting ruined but am given no opportunity to say so. By the time he smells burning he's nearly there so Master removes the food from the oven and then throws me across the kitchen table and enjoys some almost dry anal - my punishment for ruining his dinner. Afterwards, we go and shower and L plays computer games while I clean the table and salvage the meal.

At quarter to midnight, I have dozed off on the sofa and L wakes me. I head for the bedroom, exhausted but he hands me my coat. A new computer game is being released at midnight and he's dispatching me to fetch it for him. I'm halfway there before I realise he didn't give me any money and so I end up buying the game for him. When I get home he eagerly loads it up and after half an hour of watching him kill things, I give up and go to bed. At 2.30am, when he joins me, I am woken again to serve him. I'm not even annoyed about it. I accept that I exist for his service.

Just a quick post to let you know how much I am enjoying this thread, Eastern Sun. Thank you for sharing, and my thanks to your owner for allowing you to share.

I so much enjoy Eastern Sun's liquid, almost tranquil jottings about seemingly mundane things, but there is a boiling eroticism in it. Eloquent, encouraging comments as this one by Homburg and Catalina amd Velvet elsewhere add so much to the extra-ordinary level of civility that threads like this evoke.

__________________There is no nonsense so arrant that it cannot be made the creed of the vast majority by adequate government action Bertrand Russell